The Light That Binds Them
by Adonnen Estenniel
Summary: From the first, Celeborn sought to hold her. But she would not be tethered.
1. Yearning

I. Yearning

A mighty huntress was she, impassioned by the success of her kill—the throb of blood in her veins.

He watched her as she whirled before the fire with her brothers—red and gold and black. She wore power like he wore his clothes: a second skin assumed without pretense or inhibition.

She was intoxicating, and he was drunk with the sight of her.

Swaying. Spinning. Endless motion.

To hold her, if only for a moment, was all that he could desire.

Yet he wondered if it was even possible to touch a woman such as she—flames and smoke.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: firelight<em>


	2. Freedom

II. Freedom

He watched her approach, marveling in the swirl of her golden hair, the grace of her lean body. The way her eyes shone like troubled stars, even in this darkness.

She bowed.

The smile he offered her was forced. "My lady."

"You don't want to be here." Direct, assertive. "You are unhappy and you want to leave."

He was drowning and could not save himself. She frowned at his silence, turned to go.

Desperate, he cast the only lifeline he had. "What do _you_ want?"

"To be free."

Her eyes were cold, cruel stars, and he flinched away from them.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: starlight<em>


	3. Known

III. Known

They stood together, hidden in the shadow—separate from the others, watching.

The music swelled, and the dancer swayed in time. Her movements were effortless, the swirl of her midnight hair spellbinding.

"She is very beautiful."

He frowned, considering. But the dancer's exotic beauty was stale; it seemed lacking. "She is," he agreed, "yet you have qualities she does not, _Alatáriel_," he added, tasting this new name upon his tongue.

"Alatáriel" she repeated. Her stormy eyes shone like twin lamps, reflecting the Lights she had danced under as a child. "Why do you call me thus?"

"Because it is true."

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: lamplight<em>

_[1] Alatáriel: Telerin form of Galadriel; "Though called Nerwen by her mother and Artanis by her father, the name she chose to be her Sindarin name was Galadriel, for it was given to her by her lover, Teleporno of the Teleri, whom she wedded later in Beleriand." — Unfinished Tales_


	4. Shoreline

IV. Shoreline

Over long miles they had trod, their feet frozen and lifeless. For countless nights had they shivered under their furs, wishing with the last fiber of their beings that there would be respite.

For unnumbered breaths hand he prayed to the Powers they had wronged. He had prayed to die: to fall and not rise.

Yet that thin, distant gray line—it could not be another dream. He felt moved to tears, but could not summon them.

He looked to her, saw her pale, tremulous joy.

"We made it!" She laughed. And her smile—oh, her smile!—was the absolution his soul craved.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: sunlight<em>


	5. Grievance

V. Grievance

They walked together through the dark foliage. Both were silent, seeming to search for words, but to no avail.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, but her face revealed none of the turmoil that lay just beneath the surface. Yet he knew it was there, though she might deny it.

"Finrod's death was not your fault," he found himself saying, and he winced. How feeble his comfort was!

She glanced at him, briefly, and frowned. "Should I not mourn my brother's passing?"

"No."

Apologetically, he took her hand in his, and she grasped it like a lifeline.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: darkness<em>


	6. Allure

VI. Allure

"You are not happy in this place," he said, parroting her earlier words. How long ago that conversation seemed, yet still it was crisp in his memory.

Her smile was wistful. "Nay, I am not happy, but neither are you."

"No."

They stood in a narrow corridor, and the torch's smoky light was yellow. He traced the sharp edges of her face with a fingertip, and she leaned into his touch. Nearly imperceptible, but he noticed.

"Come away with me," he whispered. He knew that he offered her all she desired, and more.

And she could not resist his plea.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: torchlight<em>


	7. Landlust

VII. Landlust

The forest stretched before them: a vast expanse of virgin land. Ripe to be molded and shaped. A realm to call her own.

He cast a sidelong glance, saw unrestrained hunger in her face.

"It's yours, my love," he told her.

She smiled. "Ours."

He shook his head, touched her shoulder. "Yours," he said. "I will walk this path with you and give all that I have. But do not ask me to take this burden upon myself."

Their eyes met, and he shuddered. It wasn't enough for her.

And as twilight descended, so did a chill over their hearts.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: twilight<em>


	8. Rapture

VIII. Rapture

Spangles of silver fell across her face. Her eyes were bright and liquid, open and full of promise.

"Dance with me, my love," she called. Pale limbs swayed in the night: reeds on a riverbank.

In this moment, they were alone. Suspended in midair. Spinning above a sea of worry and lost hopes. They were alone, here in this place. Removed from the world and all troubles. Two bodies trapped in a dream.

Two beings lost in each other.

"Come dance," she said again.

And he came to her—danced with her. A husband and wife made whole in the moonlight

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: moonlight<em>


	9. Menace

IX. Menace

He held her as she cried.

She was delicate and fragile beneath his fingers—a glass bauble ready to shatter under the slightest pressure.

He longed to shut her away from the world. To hide her from all danger. To keep her free.

But he could not, so he held her close, until the separate beating of their hearts became as one.

The candles cast a sinister light upon her ring, and he shivered. How could he keep her safe if the danger he feared was here, with them?

Tears gathered in his own eyes, and he let them fall.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: candlelight<em>


	10. Departure

X. Departure

He watched her leave. He stood upon the quay and watched the ship disappear, sailing to the place of her birth. He saw her golden head fade into the distance.

He had not expected separation to be so cruel.

"This severance will seem but a dream in time," said Elrohir.

He turned to his grandson, feeling the wetness on his cheeks for the first time. "But a dream," he echoed.

Elrohir smiled.

The ship had nearly passed beyond the horizon now. He raised his arm in farewell, but she was gone, lost to the warmth of the dying sun.

Free.

* * *

><p><em>Written for the Tolkien Weekly prompt: sunlight<em>


End file.
